Butterfly Wings
by buttercupbella
Summary: Nevertheless, he is the most beautiful creature you've ever met, far more beautiful than the princes in your fairy tales; and it hurts you to know that you would be letting him go soon.
1. Chapter 1

**Butterfly Wings**

_buttercupbella_

* * *

_**Wendy Angela Moira Darling**_

He never wanted to be a man, never—

I never wanted to be a girl forever

**-x-**

You wince a little at the coldness of his touch, almost as if he is going to fade away in the whisper of December breeze, almost as if he would be leaving your windowsill.

But he _is _going to leave, isn't he?

He smiles at you with his billion-pound toothy grin and you just couldn't help but gape at a boy whose age you didn't have the slightest idea of. Perhaps he is fifty years older than you, or a hundred, but the uncertainty just makes you glad that in spite of the fact that you never truly know who Peter Pan is, his smile is just the thing that you need the most.

You hold his hand in yours and your kaleidoscope eyes echo a silent plea: _Stay. _The stars on the right side of the heavily darkened sky twinkle more brightly than ever, and he is caught between the pull of his world and the gravity of your intense gaze. Metaphorically speaking, you are his world, too.

But he never understands that, because he is just a boy—a boy who has not made enough sacrifices to know that eternal childhood is an eternal curse, that playing with swords and pirates every hour is nothing compared to the shallow, forced breaths people take on their last days.

Time seeps through your fingers, and you're fighting hard to convince him to grow up. He stares at you with childlike chestnut eyes and rubs the back of your hand with his comfortable warmth. "Good night," the words pass through his lips faster than you could ever blink and stamp on your mind all the little details that hardly matter to those who didn't see him outside their bedrooms, like the small dimples he has, the camouflaged scar on his cheek, his speckled blond hair, the dry leaves on his clothes, and the mud caked on his fingers. Nevertheless, he is the most beautiful creature you've ever met, far more beautiful than the princes in your fairytales; and it hurts you to know that you would be letting him go soon.

You still haven't said good night, and he looks at you expectantly.

"Can you stay?" you manage to croak with the least of your confidence. Even if he has not spoken, you know what his answer is. Maybe countless youth asked him the same question only to receive the old two-letter reply.

Hesitantly, you add, "Even for a little longer."

This time Peter Pan nods, his mane shining under the distant hazy moonlight. His eyes wrinkle a bit as he leans in with a fresh whiff of Neverland and his arms envelop you in something you'd never known until he came along.

Before he could say anything, you sob. It's messy and wet and anything that's not appropriate for an English lady. It's everything a kid does, but you don't want to be like this because you're so vulnerable.

Peter Pan grins against your tangled tuft of hair, and quiet seconds later you feel drops of lonely rain on your skin. His grip on you tightens and you crush each other in the knowledge that he will have to return to someplace else millions of miles away from where you are. His damp whimper kisses your ear like the bells on Christmas Eve. "I don't want to go yet—"

But he has to. You don't want to be selfish now, right, Wendy Darling?

Unconsciously his fingers trace your hips and he finds your hand easily, leading you into a slow dance that children probably never know. You both cry, and he presses his freezing lips on your eyelids. Your eyes flutter like butterfly wings and he smiles once more, yet it's just as painful as shedding tears. He nears you and your noses collide—

Your mother's coming, Wendy love. She rushes up the staircase with her robes swishing at every motion, and Peter pulls back, turns on his heel, and waves your hidden kiss in his hand. He tumbles out from your window with arms open wide, and before he hits the pavement, he flies to the glittering diamonds in the sky.

Just in time, your mother opens the door and tells you to drift off to sleep. Maybe you can find him there, and there alone.

As the saltwater dries up on your cheeks, you mouth the word that leaves a bitter taste on your tongue. You say it anyway.

"Goodbye."

**-x-**

How old are you, Wendy love? Is it seven years since you last saw him perched on your windowsill?

He might as well be your little brother. You have stopped reading bedtime stories with flashlights under thick wool blankets. You have ceased from waiting for someone who will never come back. You have begun to grow up, drinking tea while lifting your pinky and laughing under a cupped hand.

Is it your fault for tucking away your memories of him forever?

As you continue to savor the blandness of the tea and pretend to laugh with the rest of elite British adolescents, you never notice a boy with dirty blond hair peering from outside the garden pavilion, all grown up just as you are.

**end_**

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**|Author's Note|** Happy Holidays and advanced Happy New Year! First attempt at Peter Pan fanfiction.

**12. 26. 12**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Peter Pan**_

**Her love for me would never fade**

**I loved her, too, but was too afraid.**

**-x-**

When your feet touch her windowsill ever so slightly, the familiar fear creeps up your spine and Wendy looks at you with her wonderful, curious eyes. The shadows dance in the dim light of the stars which you need to come back for.

You're just as afraid of losing her just as she is terrified, beyond measure, of losing you. You have your own road to take and she's going the other way. When you come back tomorrow, perhaps you'll find a frosty house and a closed window, and she would be a lady in a blink of an eye.

But will you leave all that you've ever known for the girl you love? You are just a boy, Peter Pan, one who roams in the forests while whistling to the wind. Your parents never chased you when you left, but will you do the same to Wendy, who is standing right before you with the hope that you won't run away?

She holds your hand—you feel that her touch is trembling.

In loss of things to do, you beam and tell her, "Good night". You don't want to say goodbye because you might forget. Maybe it's a little bit easier to pretend that you can grin like this, when in fact you just want to thrash around and scream and cry like the child you've always been.

You begin to notice how beautiful she is—the brown curls that roll off her shoulders, her pale milky skin, the kaleidoscope gleam burning in the depths of her sullen irises. You start to see that Wendy Darling is thinking deeply, perhaps of words to say before you plunge into the night. Her lips become firm and you could sense that she's on the verge of breaking down. It catches you by surprise when she talks.

"Can you stay?" her soft, perfect voice sings to your heart.

Since you could do nothing to reassure her, you just stare blankly, unable to form coherent words.

She hesitates for a moment. "Even for a little longer."

All she asks for is _you, _unlike grown-ups who crave for diamond rings and briefcases of money. Why could you not stay? Because you love her more than anything, you find the courage to nod.

If you're going to leave, why not make this evening memorable, Peter Pan?

Your hands snake around her waist and you bury your face into her hair, your tears beginning to cascade and your sturdy frontier crashing down as you realize that you want to grow up for her. She cries without minding how childish she looks, and you just embrace her as if she is to disappear in any minute now. In the company of the snow and the stars, you wonder if this is the last time you'll ever love someone like this. You think back to Neverland, where you have lived over and over again to see the same reflection in the mirror and sing the same tune in the woods.

Choking on a building sob in your throat, you say, "I don't want to go yet."

But you have to, Peter Pan. No matter how much you love her, you're still afraid of heartbreaks and jobs and responsibilities and families. So you begin to dance like how adults do, and when the both of you cry harder, you kiss her eyelids gently and the temptation of her red lips draws you in.

_Dug, tug—_those are footsteps, Peter Pan. Her mother will be coming to fetch her to dwell in the real world, and you should return to your fictional island. Not many believe in your existence, and perhaps she will forget about you, too, when the time comes.

You turn back and take the thimble from your pocket, raising it so that Wendy could look at it clearly. Next thing you know, you are flying through space and time, the tears still raging even when you've already gone.

You stop midair and settle on the roof of your old home. Even after years, you remember its fading brown hue and the crooked glass windows by its side. Oddly, it is December, so you take the chance of sliding down the coal-covered chimney.

You find children a little younger than you, eyes feasting on rows and rows of presents underneath the glowing tree. They have the same irises as yours, and when you see a bearded man approaching, a conclusion hits you hard: the children are your brother's grandchildren. You're about to leave, when the old man, frail and sick, calls your name out.

It sounds like heaven.

**-x-**

Outside the pavilion, you gaze at her fake smiles and strained laughter. Her hands are gloved, not dirty from Neverland soil anymore. She is wearing a bit of make-up, and as she daintily sets her teacup on the table, she excuses herself.

This is the chance to tell her that you've sacrificed immortality for her, but seeing as she is a different Wendy now, you become reluctant.

Nevertheless, she recognizes you. Her pretty eyes widen a bit, but she doesn't run like an untamed youngster. Instead, Wendy Darling trudges towards you with poise and grace and pearls on her neck.

But she smiles, and maybe that's all that matters.

Her red lips smile. "I missed you."

Soon enough, you tell her that, too, and more.

"I love you."

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**end**

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**Note: **Happy Holidays. Two-shot completed!


End file.
